


The Plus-One Invitation

by apologiestoanderson



Category: Cabin Pressure, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-17
Updated: 2014-01-17
Packaged: 2018-01-09 01:57:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1140088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apologiestoanderson/pseuds/apologiestoanderson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>MJN Air have finally been invited along to a pilots' conference, and Martin doesn't want to go alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Plus-One Invitation

“W-Well, I was just wondering if you’d like to be my plus one is all,” Martin stuttered down the phone, cursing the fact that his dry throat made his voice sound awkwardly husky at the beginning of the phone call.

It had been a few months since he had first met John Watson. John who didn’t laugh at Martin’s social faux pas. John who didn’t find Martin’s obsession with planes to be odd or ridiculous. John who smiled and listened to Martin. Kind John. Noble John. Good John. It wasn’t long until Martin found himself scouring for reasons to visit his half-brother on the days where he didn’t have a delivery, just so he could have a few minutes exchanging pleasantries with John all wrapped up cosy in his fluffy jumpers. Bliss. He heard that horrible, all too familiar voice in the back of his head too many times for him to count. “You’re being pathetic, Martin,” it whispered. “Back out now while you still have a shred of dignity intact.” After pressing John’s number and hanging up several times, Martin figured it couldn’t hurt to try. Even if John did reject him, it was John. He would be gentle, right?

“To the pilots’ conference? Me?” John asked, crunching on a biscuit as he held the phone in the other hand. It did seem odd. “Are you sure you didn’t mean to ask Sherlock?”

“Ahem, no. No I-… I didn’t,” Martin uttered, then clearing his throat for the seventh time since the phone call began. “I really didn’t. I wanted to ask you, John.” Taking a deep breath, he then spoke clearly. “I want to take you. I, well, like you.”

John couldn’t help but chuckle on the other end of the phone. Such nervousness just for asking someone to go to a little aeroplane meeting and convention. It didn’t sound too bad, might be nice to actually get to know Martin better. “I’d love to go,” the army doctor said, wiping the crumbs on his hands off on his trousers. “Really. You’re lucky you called ahead actually, any later and I wouldn’t be able to book the time off work.”

A small noise escaped Martin’s throat before he quickly coughed to cover it up, a smile spreading over his lips. “Really? You will? It’s about a two hour drive from London so I can pick you up!” Excitement was bubbling up through the pilot and spilling out like a kettle that had been left on the stove for too long.

“All right, all right,” John mumbled, containing a laugh. The last thing he wanted was for Martin to think he was amused by him. He was a decent guy after all, and with clear self-esteem issues. Although he did find the way he got flustered so easily endearing, he held back his chuckling for later. A shaky sigh of relief came from the other end of the phone before Martin finally parted his lips to speak. He had a yes. There was no need to be worried. No matter how many times Martin told himself this, he still felt the churning butterflies in his stomach. He still had to make a good impression when they went to the conference. “So I’ll see you on… 18th then?”

“Yes, yes! I’ll pick you up in the morning!” Martin said, mentally cursing himself for uttering it out at such an awkwardly fast pace.

“Take care of yourself,” came John’s voice from the other end of the phone before he heard him casually hang up. The army doctor paused a moment, a smile playing over his lips. Martin had asked him to come along. A fluttering feeling welled up from his stomach to his chest. Flattery? He was pleasantly surprised that Martin would pick him of all people. “Hm…” he let out, hugging his own arms briefly before turning face to face with Sherlock. “Oh! Bloody hell, Sherlock…”

“My half-brother, I assume?” he asked with a quirked brow as John pushed past the other’s taller frame, making his way over to their kitchen.

“Yes, what of it?” John muttered. He turned around after flicking the kettle on, eyebrows raised towards his flatmate. “Surely you don’t have a problem with me making friends with Martin? I mean… he’s Martin.”

“I’m just vaguely surprised that he actually got round to asking you,” Sherlock replied with a small shrug of the shoulders, swiftly returning back to the sofa, laying across it lazily. “I’ve already has 38 text messages of him twittering on about asking you, I didn’t think he’d have it in him.”

“Wait, thirty eight?!” John replied, leaning in the kitchen doorway. “You mean, I wasn’t asked on a whim?”

“Not at all, now please, I need to think. Hurry with the tea would you, John?”

John watched Sherlock’s fingers move up, pressing against his temples. A toothy grin then spread over his lips, shrugging his shoulders in a small jolt of happiness before he turned to flick off the bubbling kettle.

 

“Now… Please, please please please, please don’t let Douglas’ teasing put you off. I will ask him to stop, but he will tease. He always damn well teases!” Martin protested, resting his forehead on the steering wheel of the van. The car park they were staying in was large, situated around the back of an even larger international hotel.

“Hey- Hey now… Calm down,” John softly cooed to him, moving a hand over to rest on his shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “You’ve never been this worked up about his teasing before. Besides, you’ve been looking forward to this! Non-stop chattering about planes and flying planes and all that.” As John’s thumb rubbed against his shoulder, Martin looked up, making eye contact. Here he was, an awkward mess. The whole ride all he had been doing was banging on about damn aeroplanes as John sat and listened politely. This wasn’t how he had hoped it would go, intriguing John, making him impressed at his title of Captain, despite having owned one himself, taking him proudly on his own. Not by a long shot. Martin’s eyes briefly moved down to John’s lips. Soft, pink, he was probably a gentle kisser. Kissing John. He looked back up to him, quickly pushing those thoughts out of his mind. Like that was going to happen, even though he knew he very much would like it to. Giving him a brief smile, he then adjusted his Captain’s hat, nodding.

“Yes. You’re right, really. You are, I mean. I’m Captain Martin Crieff, I don’t need to worry about my first officer teasing. That’s what they do, it’s friendly banter, and if you’re part of the friendly banter then y-“

“I’ll be fine. Really, we had a lot of banter when I was in the army. Now c’mon, you’ll feel better once we’re inside. I bet the rooms are fancy,” John said, giving a cheeky grin before hopping out of the van. Taking a deep breath to calm himself, Martin stepped out of the van, locking up before going to meet John around the back. “Martin, I never said this, but I’m actually pretty flattered that you decided to ask me.”

“What, flattered, really?”

“Of course, being someone’s first choice it-… It makes you feel good, you know?”

Standing up straight, Martin held a confident look, at least as confident as he ever managed to look before walking into the hotel, a suit clad Doctor John Watson by his side.

The lobby was vast. The floor decorated with a shiny floor that upon first glance almost seemed to be made of marble. There were white tiles lined with crimson, formed to make elaborate diamond patterns on the floor. The desk of the concierge itself was painted gold, and each smiley worker behind it wearing crimson and gold uniforms, clearly the colour scheme of the hotel. Behind the concierge, were a series of elaborate clocks, telling the time in various cities such as London, New York, Beijing and Dubai. To the sides of the room were white pillars, although they seemed to have little use for their purpose, merely being decorative. They led all the way up to the bottom of the third floor, a rounded staircase with rooms leading to restaurants on the second floor clearly visible from around the back of the concierge.

“Wow…” Martin whispered in awe, looking up to the ceiling before the train of thought in his head was abruptly screeched to a halt by a smiley worker.

“Name and airline?” she asked.

“I’m sorry?”

“Which airline are you a pilot for, sir?”

“Oh! Right, sorry, MJN,” Martin uttered, a flush of embarrassment rushing over him. “My name is Mar-… I’m Captain Martin Crieff.”

“Right this way, sir.”

Martin followed the smiley worker over to the small handful of his co-workers. A much smaller handful than any of the other airlines it was, too. He followed her over to two fingers worth of his co-workers.

“’Ello Skip,” Arthur said with his usual cheery demeanour, giving Martin a happy wave.

“Hello… Arthur, why are you here? I thought it was pilots and airline owners only,” Martin asked, his eyebrows furrowing in slight confusion.

“Well, I didn’t want you guys to have all the fun without me. And anyway, Mum let me take her place, so here I am. Proud representative of MJN air in total… hi!”

“Wait-… She let you, you Arthur, stand in as the owner? Why isn’t she here?”

“She is! She’s just with Air Caledonia.”

“Oh,” Martin started, trailing off a moment before his eyes widened. “Oh! I see. Well, I guess that uh-… that was inevitable wasn’t it?” There was only a short pause after his rhetorical question before he shook his head. “Sorry, I’ve been terribly rude. Guys, this is John. He’s my-… uh…” he started, then awkwardly looking to the doctor for some sort of clue. “My brother’s flatmate.”

“Sorry to have kept you waitin,g Mr and Mr Crieff,” the smiley worker said, then handing out a couple of key cards. “You’re in room 1605, on the 16th floor. Please don’t hesitate to ask for any sort of assistance with any of the facilities in your room.” Giving them a bright smile, she then turned on her heel and left, a smirk on Douglas’ face like the Cheshire cat.

“You brought your brother’s flatmate along… as your spousal plus one?” he asked, the grin not leaving his face as he went to give John a firm handshake. “Douglas Richardson. Pleasure.”

“Spousal?” John repeated, then looking over to Martin. Although his tone was surprised, a brief laughed escaped his lips. “Did you know about this?” He paused at the look of worry on Martin’s face, then thinking a moment himself. “…Brother’s flatmate. Do you not consider me a friend, Martin?”

“Of course! Of course I consider you a friend!” Martin quickly protested, his eyes widening in worry. “I see you as more than just a friend, so much more. Really!”

“More than a friend?” John’s eyebrows raised as Martin quickly shook his head.

“No, I mean just a friend. Why would I consider you more than that? I mean-…” he choked on his words a moment, before Douglas sprung on the opportunity.

“Oh Martin, you smooth Casanova.”

A pitiful whine escaped Martin’s lips before John slid over, moving up on tip-toes to comfortably reach Martin. “A mix-up, these things happen,” he whispered in his ear before giving him a friendly pat on the arm. “C’mon honey,” he joked, a cheesy grin playing on his lips before reading the room card.

Martin stared briefly after him before giving Douglas and Arthur a nod. “I’ll be seeing you… later then, gentlemen.” Looking back to John, he then made an awkward skipping motion to catch up, then standing behind him outside the elevators.

“1605, might as well have a peek, go drop off our overnight bags and that,” John said, then making his way inside the elevator with Martin. Smiling up to him, they then exited as the elevator reached the 16th floor. Taking his own key card, Martin decided he would try to be a gentleman for once in his life. Beeping the door open with his card, he gestured for John to go in first, slipping in after him.

In the middle of the room there was a large double bed with two pillows on each sided and a large, fluffy duvet with a silk lining at the bottom in the colours of the hotel. Across from the large bed was a television attached to the wall just above a small drawer with a complimentary fruit basket on top, containing apples, bananas and a couple of peaches. The windows took up the entire wall to the side, with larger golden curtains hanging to the sides of it, ready to be drawn for night time. The carpet was soft, and a deep red, and the bathroom held both a shower and a bath. Dropping his bag immediately, John jumped back onto the bed, grinning as he felt himself sink back.

“This is brilliant…” he mumbled, his fingers stroking over the soft, fluffy duvet. “So comfortable. This is a bed I’d love to have sex on.”

“Sex?!” Martin replied, his eyes widening as he moved over, perching on the right side of the bed. “You… do you plan to have sex on this bed?”

John sat up, resting his elbows back on the bed as he looked up to him. “What, bring a random girl back and kick you out so I can shag her? Come on, I have more respect for you than that. Also I don’t sleep with women I’ve just met. I like there to be feelings.”

Giving John a small smile, Martin rest his hand back, then looking over to him. “So you uh-… you really don’t mind then?” he asked, the flush on the bridge of his nose darkening to a shade almost rivalling that of his hair. “I mean, we will be sleeping here. Together. I’m just saying…”

“It’s just one night,” John said, moving his hand over to lightly stroke his arm. “Trust me, sometimes having to travel with Sherlock for cases I’ve had to sleep in a taxi, and you need to remember I was in Afghanistan. Lying next to you on a luxury bed will be bliss. Really.”

“Bliss…” Martin whispered back, then kicking off his shoes and checking his watch. Still time before they had to meet downstairs. Resting sideways, he took a look over to John. Sweet John. If this were a film, he thought to himself, he could lean over and kiss John. Then John would kiss back. It was the perfect moment to indulge in a little romance. Still, real life never worked like the films. Although the idea of rolling over and engaging in some light, physical affection sounded perfect, he was certain that it would be greeted with being pushed away, frowned at, and maybe even having John leave. He couldn’t leave now, they’d only just got there. “So, uh-… I uh-…” Martin decided to cut in.

John opened his eyes to look at him, then offering a slightly tired smile. “Hm?” he let out, before Martin cleared his throat again.

“Look, I just-… I really hope you enjoy this. At least, well… I know you won’t enjoy it as much as I will… but I really do hope you’ll at least find it interesting! I mean I can explain some things about the new engines coming in an-..” he started, then trailing off as he felt John’s finger press to his lips gently.

“Ssh…” John whispered, then removing his finger and giving it a smile. “Look, I’m sure whatever we do together, I’ll love it. It seems interesting and fun enough. Don’t worry, you just concentrate on enjoying yourself. I’m sure seeing you all giddy and excited would be… well, the best part really.”

A genuine smile spread over Martin’s face. “You really think so?” he asked, then looking down a moment. “I still can’t believe she called you Mr Crieff…” he muttered. “I mean, I guess it’s like sampling married life for the day. You know, just to see what it’s like…”

“I guess if you want to think of it that way…” John trailed off himself, then sitting up next to Martin. He did share quite a lot of the features that Sherlock had, the cheekbones, his eyes. The ginger hair was vaguely similar to Mycroft’s, but he wasn’t as tall, and he was a lot nicer. Genuinely nicer. The bitter Holmes gene wasn’t passed onto him at all. He was whiney at times, yes, but it was more endearing than anything, and the way he got so excited about aviation like a seven year old at Disneyland was more than a touch on adorable. He broke eye contact, allowing his eyes to move down, over those cheekbones, his pink lips, down his long neck to that Captain’s uniform he wore so proudly. “Captain Martin Crieff,” he whispered. A smile twitching over his lips, John moved his hand over the side of his uniform, his thumb occasionally tracing over stitching on his uniform. Looking up, he made eye contact again. The space between them was a lot shorter, having involuntarily leant in. “Ah-… when are we supposed to be meeting the others for lunch?” he asked, trying to break any sort of tension that had been conjured up between the two of them.

Martin’s eyes widened and he quickly shook his head, breaking himself out of the hopeful trance he had lulled himself into. “Lunch, lunch… oh uh- about ten minutes or so?” he asked, then taking a deep breath to calm himself as he looked down to his watch.

John nodded, feeling himself oddly flustered himself, although he really couldn’t picture why. It was Martin, and not only was Martin a man, but he was Martin Crieff. He was awkward, a bit of a comic relief case at times but sweet nonetheless. He couldn’t have tension with Martin. Not that sort of tension. Not any sort of tension. Nodding, John then hopped off the bed, brushing himself down. “I’m going to go-, y’know, wash my face. Sort myself out a bit. Then we can go down together, yeah?” he said, walking through to the bathroom before Martin flopped back on the bed, letting out a defeated sigh.

“Yeah…” he mumbled, his face hidden behind his hands. “Martin, what are you doing…?” he whispered to himself, then letting out a small sigh. “What are you doing?”


End file.
